


He and His is Good as Gold

by The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette



Series: Red Dead Imagines [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Reader is a gutter rat, cursing, leading Arthur on a merry chase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette/pseuds/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette
Summary: Reader is suppose to give Arthur Intel, but before that the cat must lead him on a chase through Saint Denis





	He and His is Good as Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I'm suppose to be writing smut, ya know. This is suppose to be a little ridiculous. 
> 
> Don't own anything.

Your contact would be found down at the dock, Sticky Sam told you, somewhere near the ticket booth for the train station. And you would know him, because these Yankee Cowboys stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Tell em, and then tell them cunts to get the fuck outa the city, for they bring hell on us all." Sticky Sam was never the smoothest, nor brightest, but he had done you a couple of favors over the years, and you were the quickest of the boys at getting away. Well, quickest yes. Sticky Sam wasn't the brightest, after all.

The word was some kid was being held by Mr. Bronte, up in his mansion. Not the first kid he'd held, and it was the memories of the others that made you a little more eager to comply when Sam had approached you. Sides, it couldn't get back to the others if you were the one to go, you didn't exist 24/7.

So with a thumb in your suspender strap and a hitch in your step, you started for the waterfront, busboy cap pulled low over your ears and an unlit cig stuck between your teeth. It was easy to blend in to the crowd, they just saw a gutter boy and their gaze slid over, no one the wiser about your identity. Stuck to the shadows, ignored the unsightly groans and screams, one could almost pretend that Saint Denis was the pristine paradise it advertised itself as. But eyes watched everywhere, everyone out to double cross and stab.

When you stopped across the ticket boot, you scanned the area for rivals, and then struck a slouch against the roughened brick of the building, striking a match and lighting the cig. You'd never actually smoked one, just flicked it to cause the ashes to strike the pavement and watched the smoke curl upwards.

Horses whinnied, and your eyes snapped up to see one of them cowboys.

"He and his is good as gold," you sang under your breath, busting the cig under your boot as you watched from under the brim of your cap as the stranger leaned against a lamppost, eyes wandering back and forth.

Woof, he was handsome, squared jawed and shouldered, but his surveying skills were rusty, you decided, as his blue eyes passed over your form twice without locking on you, even though you were barely ten feet away. He adjusted his black, beat up hat and scratched his stubble, and you could hear his sigh.

Amateur. Your eyes cut around the square, and almost snarled at the sight of two of Bronte's men on the other side of the booth. That was too coincidental for your liking. How the hell were you suppose to get close enough to drop Intel with those two sleezebags just itchin to grab you?

You watched for a moment, saw two little kids playing across the street, and the idea spark inside you like a match. What would be the bait, though?

You straightened, and the cowboy's eyes flashed to you, guarded and alert. You let a mangy grin cross your completion, and cupped your hands around your mouth:

"Hey, Pretty Boy, your Yankee hide is shit!"

Why is it that men respond to gibberish, you thought idly, as he sprung into action. With a wild cry, you tore off down the alley, the Yankee on your heels. You dodged across a market square, lead him through the unlocked door of an abandoned church and outside again, enjoying the thrill of the chase even with an angry dog on your heels.

"The longer this goes, boy, the madder I get!" His voice was a deep drawl, sending shivers down your spine, and you made the fervent promise that you would thank Sticky Sam for telling you about this job.

"One, two, buckle my shoe." You shouted over your shoulder, dodging around his frame and backtracking as you led him down a dead end, grinning as he caught himself against the wall and came after you again.

"Hold still, boy."

"You is as slow as you is handsome, cowboy." You taunted, skipped sideways and grabbed for a ledge. His curse behind you spurred you on, hauling yourself up onto the roof of an apartment and then back over the other side. You landed with a huff and a dramatic bow towards the two elderly women who's tea you had interrupted.

The heavy thud of boots landing behind you caused you to twirl on your heel, delighting in his scowl as he took a step towards you.

"When I get my hands on you-"

"Ah, ah, ah. Manners, Yankee." And you cartwheeled over the side, shoulder leading into the roll as you reached the street, glancing up to grin devilishly at him as he peered over the side. You saw him tip his hat to the two women who were clucking and fussing like angry hens, and then he disappeared.

"Hmmmmm." You stayed crouched for a moment, then rose and skirted the building, rubbing a hand across your cheek and nose.

"Come out, come out," you whispered, a bubble of anxiety in your stomach. You needed to give him the message, which meant he couldn't just stop playing. No no, that would be boring. He wouldn't give up... Would he?

You slid along the edge of the alley like a black cat, and stuck your nose around the corner. Nothing, not a whiff of Yankee, even when you inhaled deeply. Mildly disgusted with him and yourself, you stepped out of the shadow and ripped your cap off, ruffling your hair. "Shit."

There was a whisper of cloth beside you, and then the world tilted and blurred as strong arms caught around your midriff, and the momentum he had built carried you both a few feet before fetching against a wall.

"Goddamn, Yankee, did you sprint?" Your voice was winded as your arms gripped strong biceps, curling into the muscles and hiking a leg up so he couldn't squash you into the wall. You dropped your head back and sighed dramatically before giving him a mocking drawl. "Ya cauwht me pawtnr."

"You're a girl?"

"Took you long enough Romeo." You wiggled in his grasp, but it was too tight to escape. Relaxing, you noticed he barely twitched as you draped your weight onto him. Well, not like you weighed much anyway.

"You one of the Van der Linde boys?"

His eyes glinted at your words, but you just lifted your hands up above your head. "Hey, hey, a gutter rat ain't got shit to say about what you did, but I've been told to pass something along."

He didn't shift his stance, but nodded, "ok, so tell me."

"Word is yous lost something, and word is that something is holed up in a mansion on the west end of town. Man name's is Angelo Bronte, and he is a nasty sumabitch, mister."

"Angelo Bronte." He rolled the name, gaze shifting behind you as he mulled it over. "You sure?"

"Damn sure, mister." You placed your hands back on his shoulders. "You uh, wanna let me go now?"

The grin that broke across his face was slow, crooked, and so damn hot it should have been illegal. "Maybe, but I think you owe me for that chase you just led me on, girl." He reached up with one hand and scratched his chin again. "How old are ya?"

"Really?" You dropped the accent and just deadpanned the word at him.

He just shrugged and grinned like he was thinking of something naughty. Which made you think of something naughty, and without thinking further you replied, "old enough."

He lost the grin a second before he kissed you.

And damn, could the Yankee kiss. His lips were wide, soft, just the right amount of give in them to lead a girl on and lure her into sinking. So you did, wrapped your arms around his shoulders and sank, not even caring about the moan you let lose when his tongue flickered into your mouth and proved the man had studied the art of being French.

How long it went on was anybody's guess, but all to soon he pulled back, a rakish grin upon his lips as you nipped at his lower one during his retreat. You winked at him before he let you slide down the wall.

Quick as a flash you were under his arm, boots tapping as you put space in between you and tried to sidle into the crack between two building.

"Hold up," damn, but he was fast, as you sidestepped away from his open hand.

It didn't close upon your waist though, just hovered there, as his eyes, earnest and too blue, followed your movements. "Where can I find you?"

A sharp laugh, tugging the busboy cap back on to hide your eyes. "You won't, Pretty Boy."

And with that you were sprinting down the alley, light on your feet, a whistle on your lips to mingle with the taste of Yankee. You had a quick flash of him standing in the middle of the alley as you turned a corner, staring after you, and then he was gone and you disappeared back into the hustle and bustle of the city.


End file.
